


Forbidden Fruit

by Omnicat



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Banter, F/M, Flirting, Fruit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 00:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7292044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnicat/pseuds/Omnicat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody is trying to poison anyone. Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forbidden Fruit

"Ah, excellent," T’Challa said suddenly, drawing Natasha’s attention away from two members of the wait staff discussing in hushed tones whether it would still be worth it to mop up the mess at this stage. She turned toward her companion. He had unearthed several pieces of dark, vaguely pear-shaped fruit from the only fruit bowl that remained upright, and now sagged into the chair beside hers with an air of truly cat-like contentment. He held out one of the fruits to Natasha. "Here. We are lucky."

She took it. "What is this?"

"This is our reward for a job well done, Miss Romanoff." She didn’t recognize the Wakandan word he used then, but clearly it was the name of the fruit. "A regional delicacy."

"Never heard of it," Natasha admitted. Which was hardly unheard of – the main reason she liked to know everything was because she _didn’t_ know everything, _yet_ – but still. She _had_ done a lot of homework since she and T’Challa first met. Smirking, she slanted her eyes at him. "Are you using my ignorance to try and poison me, your majesty?"

He snorted. "It is a fruit native to Wakanda and many of our neighboring countries. The health benefits are many and varied, and in my personal opinion, it tastes like a gift from the gods."

"And yet this is still the first I’ve heard of it, so _technically speaking_..."

Pretending to hem and haw, Natasha rolled the fruit around in her hand until T’Challa took it back.

"Oh, well, _technically speaking_ , then." He smiled lazily, head tilted and eyes hooded. "Perhaps."

He unsheathed his suit’s vibranium claws, wiped them on the unsoiled underside of the expensive tablecloth, and began peeling away the fruit’s purple skin with quick, dainty movements. Natasha had never seen something so quintessentially aristocratic.

She leaned her elbow on the table, and her chin in her hand, and licked her lips.

"Maybe it has soporific qualities," she murmured, eyes flicking from his face to the fruit and back like it was succulent in an altogether different manner. "Maybe you want a collection of sleeping beauties to fill the secret backrooms of your palace."

T’Challa’s grin widened and his warm, dark eyes crinkled.

"Perhaps." He resheathed his claws, this time uncaring of the juice coating them, and met her eyes. "That _would_ be an idea. I wonder how you would look amidst the sheets of my bed."

He took a generous bite of the fruit.

"The royal sheets? I feel lucky already."

"Well, not the embassy’s, at any rate," T’Challa allowed with a little laugh.

And then he rested his elbow beside hers, leaned in, and held out the fruit. The flesh was a darkly veined orange and deliciously fragrant.

"I bet Wakandan children build up a tolerance for the toxins from an early age," Natasha said, still not done milking the joke for all it was worth – even as she plucked it from his fingers and bit down.

She had to fight down a moan.

"I don’t believe in any gods – " she said after swallowing. "– but I agree; if there’s any out there, and if they care about us, this is what they’d send. Even _if_ it might be poison."

She beckoned him closer still, and he obliged, letting her cup the back of his neck. But inches from his mouth, he put a finger to her lips to stop her.

"What if your _lipstick_ is what is poisoned?" T’Challa asked, eyes twinkling.

"Me, wearing lipstick still? After all this?" she said, indicating the post-battle ruins of the embassy dining room with a twirl of her forefinger. "Flatterer."

"If it works," he joked, and closed the remaining distance.

Beneath the fruity tang, he still tasted faintly like dust and destruction. But so did she, probably. They could fix that.

"Now we’re both going to die," Natasha deadpanned. "We’d better make the most of what time we have remaining."

T’Challa stood and held out a hand to her. "Yes. Let’s."

**Author's Note:**

> Comments on older fics will ALWAYS remain welcome. :)


End file.
